Wand

unning my fingers over the invitation made of heavy parchment, still a little in shock that it was finally here. I would be going to Hogwarts in a few months, even after everything I've been through in this new life, the idea of attending a magical school was still mind-boggling.

For the first time worry boiled up inside of that Hogwarts was here the war that would be coming suddenly seemed a lot closer now. In six years, Voldemort would be returning and who knows what would happen when he finally makes his move in the open. Once I began changing things, the knowledge that I did have would become less reliable.

Deciding to worry about the future another day I took the invitation over towards a desk and signed my name to the letter, stating that I would be attending. Knowing that the act of signing applied the trace to me, I expected to feel something as it took hold of me. After a minute or so of not feeling anything, I determined that the magical trace wasn't something that I could feel affecting me.

Turning back towards my parents, I handed my dad the invitation and asked. "The invitation says we are allowed to bring a pet if it is an owl, rat, cat or toad. Will Athena be allowed to come?" As if understanding the conversation, Athena's eyes widened as if she hadn't considered the possibility of me leaving her behind was in the cards.

Not for the first time, I wondered just how intelligent she was. Sometimes, it seemed like she could follow entire conversations, and other times she would get a confused look on her face as if she didn't understand what was happening.

Dad reached out and scratched Athena's head as if to comfort her. Turning to me, he said, "We can try to get special permission from the headmaster. I am sure there have been other exceptions made for magical creatures. Athena has bonded with you, and I am not sure what would happen if you and Athena were separated for that long."

Athena hopped up onto my shoulder and wrapped her tail protectively around my throat. As if to declare that I wouldn't be leaving her behind. I reached up and scratched her ears in her favorite spot to reassure her that I wouldn't be going anywhere without her.

Deciding to change the subject, I eagerly asked, "Now that we have my letter, can we go and buy my wand." Ever since learning that I was in a magical world, and that I was a wizard, I had been fantasizing about getting my wand and all the magic that I would do with it.

Smiling at my expression, Dad responded, "I guess it is about that time. Sometimes, it's hard to believe that you're old enough for your first wand. Let me take care of a few things, and then we can go to Diagon Alley. Make sure to bring a list of everything that you will need so that we can get everything in one trip."

By the time we were ready to leave a few hours had passed, mom had dropped the twins off at grandmother's cottage. I think the idea of taking the twins to Diagon alley seemed like it would be too much of a headache trying to keep them in line. Stepping into the fireplace, I threw the floo powder towards the ground and shouted, "Diagon Alley."

After being transported through the network and arriving at Diagon alley, I found my mom had put on what I like to call her war face. While most women that I knew from my previous life seemed to enjoy the act of shopping, my mother seemed to hate it with a passion. She never wanted to window shop; her goal was to get in and out as quickly as possible. It could be somewhat annoying, there were so many magical trinkets I would want to stop and check out, but I was always forced to move along.

She had a list of everything that I would need in her hand, waving it around like a sword. She barked out instructions like a general giving orders before a battle. "All right, this is how we're going to do this; dad will head out and start picking up your equipment and anything else he thinks that you will need. You and I will get you fitted for your robes for school, and then we can stop by and pick up your wand while they are being made."

I rolled my eyes at the way mom approached shopping, like it was a battle to be won. I shot a resigned look towards dad, and he wordlessly shrugged as if to say that there was nothing to be done about it. It was just easier not to fight it.

By the time I had finished getting fitted for my robes I was bursting with excitement. After we left Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, I made a beeline for Ollivander's wand shop. By the time my mother caught up, I was standing in front of the shop, "Go on," she said, "I'll wait outside for you."

Opening the door into the shop, I found that the front of the shop was empty, and behind the counter were rows and rows of shelves that were packed with small rectangular boxes that I assumed had wands in them.

While I was marveling at all of the wands in the shop, I heard a spooky voice ring out, "Why hello there, young one. Here to get your first wand?" Turing, I saw an old wizard who I assumed was Ollivander, sticking his head out around the shelf at a weird angle.

Gulping down my nervousness, I replied in what I hoped was a brave voice, not wanting him to realize just how creepy I found him. "Yes, I am here for my wand."

Hearing my response, he seemed to glide around the corner. "Excellent, I do hope you will offer me a challenge. I do so love the challenge of matching wands to wizards."

I thought to myself, Rowling did not do a good job explaining how creepy Ollivandor was because he was giving off a big, creepy, vibe. He reached out his hand and motioned for me to do the same. As soon as I did, he pulled down his glasses, which magnified his eyes.

Grabbing hold of my hand, he turned it over and did a close inspection while muttering under his breath. He brought out measuring tape and measured different parts of my hand from my finger length to my palm.

After a few minutes of carefully inspecting my dominant hand, he seemed to come to a conclusion, "Ah, I know just where to begin with you."

Without another word, he disappeared behind one of his shelves, all while muttering so low I couldn't make out what he was saying. Popping out from behind a different shelf, he brought back several different boxes. See me look at the three boxes; he said, "Let us begin."

Pulling out the first wand, he handed it to me and said, "Ebony and unicorn hair, good for transfiguration."

Knowing what to do from the books, I waved the wand, a small stream of water began to leak out of the tip of the wand. Ollivander had a bright smile on his face, he seemed happy that this wasn't the wand for me, "I think not."

Grabbing another one of the boxes, he slid it open and handed me another one. As we went through all the boxes, none of them seemed to fit. This only seemed to encourage Ollivander, as if the harder the search was, the more satisfaction he got out of it.

After about a dozen wands, he brought back another box and slid it open. Pulling out an ivory-colored wand, he said, "Aspen and dragon heartstring."

The second I grabbed a hold of it, there was like a silent click and a wave of satisfaction shot through me. Whatever it was, Ollivander picked up on it immediately.

With a slightly disappointed look on his face that the search was over, he congratulated me, "That's a highly prized wand that chooses you, Aspen is a highly coveted wood many wizards want."

"Does it matter what type of wood a wand is made off?"

"Oh yes," he responded, "My family has been making wands for over 1600 years. We have discovered many different kinds of wood to use; some seem to have different requirements for wizards. Others have strange quirks to them as well; I believe that my father published a book about such things long ago. However, it ended up making some wizards react foolishly; they would try to demand wands of particular wood and cores based on their desires for being good at specific types of magic. Not realizing that if the wand doesn't choose you, and you use a wand that you are not suited for, it doesn't mean that you will become good at certain types of magic."

Clarifying, I said, "So a wand doesn't make you good at a specific type of magic. But instead, they select you for your natural abilities knowing that you will already one day be good at certain types of magic. How intelligent are they to be able to determine what kind of magic you will be good at? How can they do that? Are they alive?"

Shrugging, he responded, "My family has been studying the nature of wands for generations, and we still haven't learned everything. It has become clear though that wands choose their owners, some wands even switch allegiance under certain circumstances. The longer a wizard has their wand, the more the wand seems to change and grow with their owner. They seem to catch a feel for how the wizard weaves his spells. A wizard can find certain spells they often use easier to cast."

Leaning forward as if to whisper a secret, he continued, "Most wizards don't even realize how much their wands grow and change. When I carve wands, I leave them smooth and without carvings. But, if you look at a wizard who has had their wand for years, you can see patterns and shapes emerge on the wand, what's curious is that most wizards and witches never seem to realize how different their wand is from when they bought it. All of these things lead me to believe that wands are actually alive, it may be a different type of life than you and I, but it is life all the same"

Nodding my understanding, I thanked Ollivander, and I headed outside. Before I left, I called out, "What do Aspen wands normally indicate about their owners,"

With a secretive smile, he replied cryptically, "If I were you, I would be on the lookout for a silver spear."

Not knowing what to make of that, I met up with my mom, and the rest of the trip passed by in the blink of an eye. I was so distracted by the thought of heading to the tower, where I could practice some beginner spells under the watchful eye of Anton.